Teachers Have Feelings Too

Anyone who has worked closely with children knows the unique power that they wield. Children have the power to inspire us, to lift us up, to make our lives seem useful and purposeful. If you’re a teacher, you have experienced this wondrous truth, and it can be life-affirming.

However, if you are a teacher, you have undoubtedly experienced the other, let’s say less glamorous, side of being an educator. For what students have the power to give, they also have the power to take away. On these days, you leave work shattered. Such is the emotional roller-coaster of an educator’s life. The balance between the amazing, powerful moments in the classroom and the utterly depressing, self-esteem-ruining blunders.

Am I being a bit dramatic? Yes and no. I have been a teacher for only two years now, and these past two years have been the most challenging, stress-inducing yet rewarding years of my life.Why? Because I am teacher who cares. I care so deeply about doing my job right that it often dominates my thoughts at work and at home, much to the chagrin of my therapist. Yes, I need a therapist. I would challenge you not to need one, if you were a teacher. And, if you are, you understand. 

I suppose there are teachers out there who don’t care as much as I do. But, I would argue that those teachers who seem not to care have been made that way by an educational system that tends to beat teachers down. Not purposefully, mind you, but I digress.

The point here is that teachers have feelings too. Sometimes it seems as though students, parents, and the media project their worst memories of their worst teachers on us innocent, unsuspecting educators. Students chastise us for being boring. Parents criticize us for being too hard on their sons and daughters. The media perpetuates popular myths that teachers get off work at 2:00 pm every day and get entire summers off. Wouldn’t that be nice.

I keep using second person pronouns like “us,” but really I am talking about myself. I have feelings. I am not a soulless rock that can be kicked endlessly. I work with students for at least eight hours a day, bringing work home nightly to grade, plan, and perfect. I am self-conscious. I fear daily that my lessons are not well-crafted, that I don’t make sense. I cringe in front of stone-faced, quiet-as-the-grave students who, apparently, do not appreciate challenging literature as much as I. I worry constantly about my effectiveness. I have asked for feedback from my students, and their words have lifted me up and torn me down.

So, after two years, I am beginning to ask myself: why do it anymore? That’s right: teacher burnout. I have it. I think. I suppose I have nothing to compare my experience to. I imagine that much more experienced teachers might read this and shake their heads, the proverbial "cry me a river." But, why else would I be emotionally devastated when I catch a student mocking me during class? I never used to care about those things.

Now, suddenly, I have become vulnerable, vulnerable to criticism, to the self-defensiveness of my students, to the seemingly endless to-do list that comes with the job. Because here’s the thing: I’m an educated person with many skills. I could do something else. Hell, I might even make more money. Sometimes I feel a panic attack coming on when I imagine myself being a classroom teacher for the rest of my life. It shouldn’t be that way. Right?

The problem is that I have feelings too, and sometimes those feelings are hard to let go. At the same time, my students deserve a teacher who cares, and who am I to give up? I don't have an answer to that question. Yet.